


The Red Herring

by Meringueotang



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, WODEHOUSE P. G. - Works
Genre: Backstory, Fluff, Fluffy, Gay Bar, Inverts, Jeeves POV, Jooster, M/M, Realisations, sleepy, they r both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9815969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meringueotang/pseuds/Meringueotang
Summary: My heart, it seems, once lost is irretrievable.





	1. Entering the club

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, soooo I know it's been a while but I've been writing this. I'll probably do a few chapters but who knows? Hope you like it and I welcome any feedback. Xx

The problem arose, as I find that it often does, from Mr Wooster's immovable kindness and desire to help a friend in a time of need. 

Mr Chuffnell arrived at our doorstep late one evening after Mr Wooster had returned from his perambulations in the park and was relaxing in the living room. I often treasure these moments of domesticity and comfort and today was no different. The intrusion of Mr Chuffnell disrupted the tranquil expression on my master's face and for this, I must confess, I received Mr Chuffnell rather coldly at the door.

He was nervous. That was evident by the way he sat and cautiously sipped his whisky. And after explaining his situation I could see why. It seemed he had come across some trouble as a 'friend' of his named Mr Stoke had got hold of some incriminating information on him. Mr Chuffnell wanted to be sure he was not going to employ this information against him now they were no longer 'friends'. Mr Wooster threw a confused look towards me and sat up straighter saying, 'Bally awful business wouldn't you agree Jeeves?,'  
'Most unfortunate sir,'  
'Unfortunate is precisely the word I'd use yes,' he took a sip from his glass, 'I wonder though Chuffy, how this all came about, I've never seen a 'Stoke' biffing round the Drones,'  
Mr Chuffnell wiped his brow and shifted in his seat, setting his drink down, 'Err... That's the thing see Bertie, I didn't meet him at the Drones,' he glanced up at me, 'Well the thing is...I met him at the Red Herring,'.

I must say on hearing these words I started a little, something I'm not apt to do normally. The situation suddenly became clear to me. You see the 'Red Herring' happens to be an inverts club. It is tucked away in the backstreets of Trafalgar and is well established as being the classier sort among the inverts clubs. I have visited this particular club a number of times- take from that what you will. Though I have tried as the days grow on, I find that there is no way to change this aspect of me any more than the sea can help the tides. Silently, I have reached acceptance. Though I have not told a soul I admit that I have been to the 'Red Herring' on a number of occasions to indulge in pastimes I could not partake of anywhere else if you understand me. Since being in Mr Wooster's employment, however, I only attend the club to feel the air of acceptance found nowhere else. 

The fact that Mr Chuffnell had heard of, and been to, the club started me no little (though I had always suspected his interests lay in that direction). Mr Wooster, however, remained unruffled as he spoke with ease, 'Oh, I've never heard of it. I suppose it must be jolly if you like it Chuffy. Perhaps I should give it a try sometime,'. The nature of the club had seemed to escape Mr Wooster and before I could intervene he had suggested that he and I would stop by the club and uncover Mr Stoke's intentions with the documents.

As Mr Chuffnell left the flat, he pulled me aside and said, 'He doesn't realise does he?'  
'No sir,'  
'Is he?-' he caught my eyes,then blushed and looked away,  
'I don't know sir,'  
He held my gaze, then sighed, 'Ok then,' I helped him with his coat and he struggled out the door. Turning, his eyes flitted over me for a second, 'Take care Jeeves. Take care,' he mumbled before disappearing down the stairs. 

**********

Mr Wooster caught my eyes in the mirror as he dressed in his evening wear. Unwillingly, I dragged my gaze over to the jacket I was brushing. 'Jeeves?'  
'Yes sir?' I said as I watched him fumble with the tie, 'I think you know more about Chuffy's problem then your letting on,'. My insides froze but I tried to keep a calm expression. 'Sir?'  
'Yes,' he struggled with the tie, it was evidently causing him some trouble 'Don't worry and all that. I'm no Miss Marple but I just want to say...its ok' he suddenly turned and looked me full in the eyes. I found myself unable to look away. Swallowing the words I'd liked to have spoken, I cleared my throat, 'Thank you sir. Perhaps you'd like me to assist you with the tie?' Mr Wooster nodded and beamed at me as my hands ghosted around his neck whilst I tied the tie. 'Jeeves, I should like nothing more. Now, to the club we go!' 

**********

It was around 8 o'clock when we arrived at the entrance to 'The Red Herring'. The door was marked only by a small, neat sign with the name painted on in cursive, gold letters. I glanced up and down the street. Mr Wooster seemed mildly apprehensive but turned and threw a smile at me 'Chin, chin what, Jeeves?' I found something of a smile creeping onto my lips, 'Certainly sir,' and we pushed open the door.

In the small foyer, a short man sat behind a little desk. His eyes tracked us as we hung our coats and hats on the racks. Seeing Mr Wooster's discomfort, I approached him.  
'Names?' He said in a clear voice, 'Ber-'  
'Bernard,' I cut in, 'Bernard Yates,' Mr Wooster looked puzzled, 'What?' he said, throwing me a confused look. The man sighed. 'For the safety of our users, fake names must be given and masks worn,' he indicated a box below the desk. 'Oh,' said Mr Wooster, 'Right ho,'  
'And you sir? Name?'  
'Lance Smith', the man notated it down and then passed us two half face masks, such as would be worn in a masquerade ball. 

Then suddenly the door was unlocked and we were admitted into the club.

Mr Wooster's astonishment was interesting to behold as we entered. Men were dancing with men, they were openly embracing and holding hands and the air was full of music and revelry. Gently, I steered him towards a table in the corner and we sat down. 

I gave him time to adjust. Then, 'Sir?'  
'Yes Je- I mean Lance?'  
'Are you in good health sir?'  
'Oh,' he came out of his daze, 'Yes quite. I suppose it wasn't what I expected but,' he beamed, 'Rather jolly what?'. I felt a small smile slip onto my lips and, for once, let it stay there, cherishing this little moment of acceptance. 

Having registered the club's true nature, Mr Wooster brightened and leaned back in his seat, 'So. Lance?'  
'Yes sir,'  
'Why particularly did you go for that name?'  
'As a child, I used to play Knights with my younger brother,' I stopped but Mr Wooster leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. I searched for words, unusually finding myself a little dizzy. The memory danced in my head. 'I used to read that book as a boy,' Mr Wooster said, smiling with no little sentimentality. I relented, despite the impropriety, 'He would always get to be Arthur and I would always select Lancelot,' My gaze flitted about the room. I felt inconspicuously nervous about sharing this intimate detail, my father would've frowned at the notion.  
'You know what,' Mr Wooster leant forward and his eyes caught the light, 'I can see you as that. Running about the house, being chivalrous and performing daring feats for others...You're no bally different now you know,'. It was quite possibly the nicest compliment he could've paid me and when I said 'Thank you sir,' I hope he heard I meant it.

**********

The nature of the club became more of an issue as the night grew longer. We were obliged to wait until we spotted Mr Stoke, having been informed that he always wore a particular red mask and came into the club during the early hours of the morning. We were also given a blurry photo by My Chuffnell to identify him with.

It was approaching 11.30 when Mr Wooster began having problems. The more inebriated the members of the club became, the more daring they became also and it wasn't long till Mr Wooster was receiving sideways looks and winks from some members. This was prevalent when I returned with drinks from the bar to find a young man with his arm slung round Mr Wooster's shoulder and staring in a rather repulsive way at him. Mr Wooster was having a difficult time trying to rebuff the gentleman's attentions. Jealousy, a must confess an emotion I have had some difficulty with in the past, spiked in my chest. I exchanged rough words with the youth and he eventually slunk off.

It was then that the idea struck me.

I suppose at this point I must confess to the ultimate truth. I am in love with Mr Wooster. What I had taken for a passing fancy a few years prior had grown into full fledged love and care for my master. As much I struggled with the notion it was hopeless. My heart it seems, once lost, is irretrievable. I had decided to spend the rest of my life caring for him- whether or not he returned my affections. 

'Sir?' I said with measured caution, 'Might I take the liberty of making a suggestion?' Mr Wooster smiled and set down his drink, 'By all means Jee- ah, I mean Lance,' Inwardly, I took a deep breath, 'I was thinking sir, perhaps to rebuff the attentions of some of the more...enthusiastic members,' I left off,  
'Go on Jeeves,' he gave me another smile, 'Any plan of yours is sure to be a corker,'  
I took a breath, 'We could supposedly create a fiction by which we make the impression that you are unavailable for such activities,' I took a big drink, savouring the relief. Mr Wooster looked puzzled. I could almost see the cogs turning as he decoded my idea. 'Oh,' he suddenly sat up straight, eyes brightening, 'You mean...pretend we're er...as man to man what man and woman are?'  
'It was only a suggestion sir,'  
'Oh um,' he looked flustered and blushed a little (it became him very well I realised). 'Well.. Ye...Yes, Jeeves... If you wouldn't mind then that might make the situation less awkward. But only if you don't mind,' he went on hurriedly, 'I mean I wouldn't want to put you in any situation where you feel uncomfortable or where you feel that just because the feudal system says it so means you have to...that,'  
'Sir,' I cut him off, seeing him like this had tugged me out of the usual formalities, 'I can assure you that I do not mind and only wish to make the situation more comfortable if that is preferable to you,'.  
'Well then,' his cheeks reddened, 'How do we go about this then?'

I considered. 'Perhaps we could sit a fraction closer sir? Only if that is comfortable with you of course,' I added quickly, I did not want to ruin this moment of happiness- even if it was fictitious. Mr Wooster smiled, it seemed he never ran out of smiles, 'Well, if we're doing this properly you better drop the 'sirs'. We've been getting weird looks all night,' I allowed myself a small smile at this and sat down. 

Then, quite unexpectedly, Mr Wooster was merely inches away from my face and had placed his hand over mine on the table. My heart jumped to my throat and a surge of panic and happiness rendered me speechless for a second. His hand was warm and beautifully delicate. 'Will this suffice?' he said in a slightly breathless, soft voice I'd never heard before. 

The dark club was full of light. I struggled to keep my face in check. My throat choked out, 'Yes. I think that might work,'.


	2. Mr Stoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events at the club take an interesting turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are enjoying this. I am currently writing a third (and I think final) instalment that should be out soon. Have a great day xx

'I say,' Mr Wooster said, absentmindedly turning over his hand so our palms were properly slotted together. I tried to regulate my breathing, switching my gaze to a safe place- his tie. 'Is that the chap?', I looked up and surveyed the club. A man was sitting at the bar who had not been there previously. I checked the photo. 'I believe so,' missing out the 'sir' felt strange and oddly intimate, like a comfortable gap, 'Right,' Mr Wooster sat up, 'Then I suppose let's make our way over there what?' He stood up, simultaneously lacing our fingers together as I rose. 

By now, the dance floor was buzzing and the parquet could hardly be seen through the swarms of couples dancing and shuffling across the floor to the gentle swing of piano music being played across the room. Mr Wooster turned to me, 'Jee- I mean Lance. Would it be taking a liberty if I asked you to dance? There seems to be no other way of trav...of...dash it what's the word?'  
'Traversing?'  
'That's it! Traversing the room,'. Inwardly, I knew I should make my excuses but I already knew I was far beyond that. 

At this point I think Mr Wooster had started to become a trifle imbibed. He had relaxed over the evening and was now in a more cheerful state of mind then I had seen him in a long time. I allowed myself another smile (though I told myself I must try and regulate these telling expressions in the future).

'If you are sure?'  
'Quite sure. If you are of course,' I hoped I did not shake my head too profusely.   
'Well then,' Mr Wooster swayed on his feet and a small blush passed over his countenance. Fiddling with his hands, he averted his gaze. It suddenly came to me that he was nervous. 'Oh dash it Jeeves, you're making me blush like a bally schoolgirl!' This time I let a full smile brush across my lips and offered my hand . 'Would you care to dance?' Mr Wooster grinned and took the proffered hand with a surprising amount of alacrity. We stepped out onto the dance floor.

He placed his hand lightly on my shoulder, leaving me to place my hand on his waist. I could feel his hand ghosting my shoulder through my evening attire. Somehow, I stopped myself from shivering. The music began and I led the dance. Mr Wooster was an able partner and we moved with a surprising amount of grace considering the rather close circumstances. It seemed to me that we slotted together like jigsaw pieces or precise cuff links; that we were moving as one entity across the dance-floor. Needless to say it was the best five minutes of my life so far.

When the music ended, though I had hoped it never would, Mr Wooster came out of a daze. For a second, I caught a glimpse of a dreamy look across his face but it was gone in an instant. He took my hand in both of his and squeezed it gently. 'Thank you,' he blushed a little and dropped my hand, 'I must say we were rather good what?'  
'You are a most able dance partner,' I offered, taking the liberty of a small compliment. Mr Wooster grinned and looked around, 'Let's go find this chappie then what?'

**********

It is not often in my profession that I am truly astonished. Mr Wooster, however, never fails to surprise me. Within half an hour he had installed us both next to Mr Stoke and had started up lively conversation. After an hour Mr Wooster carefully brought the conversation round to Mr Chuffnell.  
'Ever thought about love?' Mr Wooster said, putting his glass down.  
'Oh. It seems to escape me. I often wonder if it exists,' Mr Stoke said wistfully.  
'Oh come now. Surely we can speak freely, here of all places,' Mr Stoke seemed to consider, his fingers drifting idly around his port glass. He sighed. 'You two are lucky you know,' he glanced at me before returning his gaze to his glass, 'You've...found each other. There's not much difficulty in that. It's the staying together that's hardest,' he sipped his drink, 'Pure dumb luck I think it is. Wether you can survive it or not,'.  
'Yes,' said Mr Wooster, carefully considering his words, 'I suppose it is... But, if you love someone, you keep a little corner of your heart for them. The hard times don't really change things,'. We sat for a moment in silence and sipped our drinks. I didn't dare glancing over to Mr Wooster. 

The conversation continued along a rather mundane route after that and concluded with Mr Stoke suddenly departing. Mr Wooster got up to see him out and motioned for me to stay sitting as I rose to join him. He grinned at me and set off to see Mr Stoke out.  
'Success don't you think?' He said on his return. I said I was a little doubtful. Mr Wooster waved it off, 'I hardly think so. He said he was going to tell someone he loved them as he left,' he sipped his drink softly and chuckled, 'Chuffy is in for a surprise,'.   
'Quite, sir,' Mr Wooster looked me full in the eyes, passing the energy between us. 'You really can drop the 'sir' you know. Rather beyond that know what?' Before I could answer Mr Wooster hiccuped and yawned. His eyes had taken on a heavy, dazed look. I felt a stab of affection for Mr Wooster's relaxed sleepy state of being. I thought of all the things I should like to say but instead inwardly sighed, 'Would you like to return home?' 

We made our way to the exit and if I let Mr Wooster lean on me as we strolled back, why it was only to support him rather than taking a liberty.


	3. End of the story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening draws to a close.

We took our time walking through the winding streets back home. I offered to call a taxi but Mr Wooster said he'd prefer to walk 'Seeing as it's such a sprightly night,'. The stars were out in full array and stood guard to light our way home. I felt an unusual rush of sentimentality.

'How am I ever to repay you?' Mr Wooster said suddenly, as if he had broken off mid-thought.  
'Sir?'  
'For giving up so much of your time Jeeves,' I made no reply. I did not trust my powers of speech, 'It goes beyond the bally feudal spirit you know?'  
'Sir-' I attempted but he hushed me and sighed, 'How can I ever thank you for times like these when you stick with the young master even though it's not in the job description,' he pulled to a stop and looked me in the eyes, 'How?'. Stopping, I returned his gaze for as long as I dared. In a moment of pure indulgence and daring, I reached over and tucked his arm in mine. 'Tell me a story,' I said, cautiously pushing out the statement as one would a paper boat on a lake. 'A story Jeeves?' Mr Wooster asked in almost bemusement, 'All you've done for me and you want some rot from this Wooster's mouth,'  
'I wouldn't call it that at all sir,' I said with feeling- I hated it when he was detrimental towards his, in my view, perfect disposition. Still, he looked bewildered, 'If you are set on the notion of somehow 'repaying' me, though I see no need, I would be quite satisfied with a story,'. I stared at my feet as we continued onwards. Our footsteps rang out gently on the pavement as the night pressed closer in. We walked on in silence for a few minutes.

Then, 'I remember when I was a boy, Jeeves. Mother's birthday was coming up and I had no bally idea what to get her... My Aunt said I should just get her a trinket or some such thing but I wanted something special. Well, anyway there was this big cookbook that I had always admired and it had this one page where this rather beautiful cake had been sketched out. It was covered in dainty sugar flowers and looked fabulously extravagant to me. I decided I'd make it for her...So I got all the necessary things, eggs, flour and whatnot and piled it into the kitchen. I worked for hours on the bally thing, threw myself into it with as much vigour as I could muster. Then, when the thing was finished, I carried it through the house,' he fell into silence. Our steps rang out into the streets. I didn't dare to look. 'It was such a big house Jeeves... A sharp house full of corners and unfriendly statues. The wind blew through it most days,' he lost himself in reverie and I did not stop him, instead I tightened my grip on his arm. I imagined him, merely a boy, walking through a big, lonely house whilst clutching a cake. I held back a shiver.

Mr Wooster chuckled, 'She loved the cake you know... We cut it up and gave it to all the staff- there was none left for us at the end,' he gave way to silence again. He sighed, 'Well a week later she took ill. I didn't understand it as a boy but I knew she was fading away. You know Jeeves... I don't remember the sickness or the blank space after it... I remember the cake; and being covered in flour; and feeling a twinge of sadness when I saw that mother hadn't left any for herself,'. We continued walking. Somehow, we arrived outside the apartment. I unthreaded my arm from his as we stood at the entrance. Light glowed from within. I looked at Mr Wooster fully in the eyes, 'Thank you,' I said, leaving the 'sir' out as the final liberty of the night.

**********

Taking Mr Wooster's hat, I divested him of his coat and shut the door to the world outside. Mr Wooster hovered about the room, pacing a little with his hands through his rather disheveled hair. 'Tea, sir?' I said, breaking the silence. 'Oh, erm, yes Jeeves that would be splendid if you don't mind but it is rather late so do push off to bed if you want to. I don't mean to keep you up what?'  
'Not at all sir' and I went off to the kitchen to prove it.

When I returned I saw Mr Wooster kneeling by the fireplace. Quickly, I placed the tray down 'Do you require assistance sir?'  
'Oh,' Mr Wooster looked up, a strand of hair falling across his eyes, 'No, no. I was just sparking up a fire. I thought the room needed some cheeriness,'  
'Indeed sir'. I crossed the room and set up the tea tray. Unsure wether or not to exit, I hovered. Mr Wooster stood up and dusted himself off, a small fire now crackling in the grate. He slipped off his shoes -inexcusable under normal circumstances but I made allowances as he was very tired- and sat down on the sofa. 'What a night ay Jeeves?' He handed me a cup of tea and motioned for me to join him. By this point, awareness for the feudal system seemed to be 'down the drain' as Mr Wooster would've put it so I took the proffered cup and sat down. 

We seemed to sit in a comfortable silence for a long time. Mr Wooster drew his legs up onto the sofa and tucked them beneath him, curling up. His feet gently brushed mine. He yawned. I suppressed my yawn but felt a wave of tiredness come across me. 'Now Jeeves,' he said with another yawn, his hair having become out of place now falling over his eyes in a bemused fashion, 'You must...You must let me see the sunrise you know?'  
'Sir?' He looked irritated and yawned again, stretching a little and causing his legs to lean against my own. 'It's,' he yawned again, 'Bertie, Jeeves...You really,' his voice began to give in to sleep, 'Really...must...call me...Bertie,' he said before giving in to Morpheus and laying his head down on the armrest. 

For a short while I watched him sleep. Then I felt my head begin to weigh me down. Questions of where our relationship stood, of what situation we would be in when the morning threaded through my mind. However, for now my head was too heavy to ignore and I let my eyes slide shut. Giving in to sleep.

************

When I awoke the first thing I was aware of was the intense cold I felt on one side of my body. The other side was warm and comfortable. Opening my eyes, I looked around to assess the situation. 

From my position, I had a limited field of vision. It was then that the question of Mr Wooster occurred to me. I inhaled and smelt a mixture of clean linen and friendly aftershave. No. I couldn't have. Under my cheek I felt soft material such as would be used on a dinner jacket. I closed my eyes for a second to try and comprehend what had happened. I had fallen asleep... On Mr Wooster. 

We were snuggled up, as Mr Wooster would put it, like 'two babes in the woods'. My arm was slung gently across his side whilst his arm was resting on my back. Admittedly this was the most comfortable and happy I had been in a long time but I was also terrified. What would I do when Mr Wooster woke up?

I was extremely reluctant to move as this would disturb Mr Wooster but was acutely aware that something had to be done. 

Mr Wooster shifted a little. Muttering something inarticulate, he pulled me a little closer and shifted again. He was beginning to wake up. I allowed myself a small smile, he was so peaceful.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. 'Reggie?' He muttered. I blinked, not many people called me by my first name. I let out the tiniest chuckle, 'Yes. Bertie?' He smiled, 'You are...' He yawned and a strand of hair fell across his face. I tucked up the unruly curl behind his ear an his eyes fluttered closed for the briefest second. 'I mean...' He opened his eyes fully, 'You do know I love you and all that?' He went on quickly, 'I mean I don't want you to feel as if I'm taking advantage or anything and I truly mean it old fruit I swear. You or nothing you know and I just-'  
'Bertie,' I stopped him, 'I can assure you the feeling is mutual,' I said as I smiled. Bertie's face filled with light and I felt compelled to kiss him. Our lips brushed for a quick second. 'Oh,' he said in surprise, 'Thank goodness,' before burying his head in my chest falling back asleep. 

I did not sleep. In times like this I always prefer to bask in happiness as if it were tangible light. I wanted to be there when Bertie awoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read this. I enjoyed writing this but it is soo hard to write in the voice of Jeeves. Still hope you have all enjoyed this and I welcome any feedback. Thanks :) xx


End file.
